We'll Find a Way
by fourteen-teacups
Summary: The Nonnatuns join forces to help a member of the community. (In honor of my-little-yellowbird's birthday, ginchy-amanda and I conspired on a mini round-robin and came up with this little bit of fun.)


_Flumppf!_

"The post has arrived!" Phyllis called to no one in particular as she approached the entrance hall of Nonnatus House. Bending down to scoop up the stack of letters, she quickly sorted them and left all but one on the side table to be collected later by their various recipients.

The envelope in her hand was addressed to _Residents of Nonnatus House_. She could tell from the return address that it wasn't official business and as she was one of the women residing within the walls of Nonnatus she felt justified in opening it.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, after she had read it through.

Valerie stopped halfway down the stairs, "What is it Phyllis?"

"It's from Mrs Yellowbird," she replied, gesturing to the letter in her hand.

"Mrs Yellowbird?" Sister Francis asked, peeking over the railing of the upstairs landing.

"Yes," Phyllis said slowly as she removed her reading glasses. She began to walk down the corridor and the two young women, not wanting to miss anything, scurried down the steps to follow her. Nearing the dining room, she continued, "Mrs Yellowbird has requested our help."

Sister Monica Joan looked up from her seat at the dining table, "What assistance does she require," the elderly nun uttered imperiously, "and, more importantly, why must we take time away from our obligatory duties to provide it?"

Phyllis patted the sister's shoulder and explained the situation, "Evidently her birthday is approaching and while she really doesn't need anything, she desperately wants to see Dr Turner play cricket." Shaking her head in bewilderment, she added, "though I can't for the life of me imagine why?"

The older woman huffed and averted her eyes, "I cannot answer that for you; I am immune to such frivolity." Valerie and Sister Frances snickered quietly as they sat down on either side of her.

Sister Julienne entered by way of the kitchen, carrying the teapot, "Isn't there a community cricket tournament scheduled two Saturdays from now?"

"You're are correct, Sister," Phyllis said, tapping the letter with her index finger, "It's in aid of the pensioners...I wonder if the doctor has put his name down?"

"We simply _must _find a way to make it happen for her," Trixie called from the sitting room, where she was adorning her fingernails with pale pink nail lacquer, "we owe a lot to Mrs Yellowbird!"

"That is true," Lucille agreed, "I can't imagine the community without her." Before she could say any more the front doorbell rang; she set her knitting down next to Trixie and went to answer it.

Meanwhile, Sister Hilda breezed into the dining room, "I've just finished the inventory of the clinical room, was there anything of interest in the post?"

Phyllis opened her mouth to answer just as Lucille ushered in a flustered Mrs Buckle.

"I'm sorry to intrude, ladies, but ticket sales for the forthcoming cricket match are disappointingly low." Violet frowned, "I am going to need some help if we plan to turn a decent profit for the older members of the district."

Sister Julienne met Violet's distress with a warm smile. "Your visit is providential, Mrs Buckle! I am certain we can assist with your ticket sales, seeing as it is for a worthy charity." She nodded to the nuns and nurses assembled, communicating that she expected their support, before continuing, "In addition, you are just the person to provide us with some specific information we are lacking."

"Oh yes?" Mrs Buckle inquired.

Phyllis took up the story, "I'm sure you are familiar with Mrs Yellowbird?"

"Mrs Yellowbird! Well, of course I am," Violet declared.

While Phyllis described their friend's request, and both Violet and Sister Hilda listened intently, the rest of the women helped to set out the tea things, along with an extra teapot and several plates of treats. Once everyone had settled themselves around the table, Sister Julienne blessed their tea and the flurry of activity involved with serving such a large group commenced.

After a while, Mrs Buckle consulted the notebook she had brought with her. "We've had enough men and boys sign up to make two teams," Violet reported, "but Dr Turner is not participating; too busy, he says!" She raised her eyebrows and made an expression of displeasure. "Now of course Fred and Reggie are on the list," she paused, letting that sink in, "and several of the Boy Scouts. A handful of Poplar business owners have also committed themselves and then there's the usual mix of husbands who fancy reliving their youth on the pitch." She pursed her lips and closed her notebook.

The table was quiet as all who were present absorbed Mrs Buckle's news; the circumstances looked bleak for Mrs Yellowbird.

Suddenly Trixie spoke up with a solution, "I suggest we phone Miss Higgins and ask her to clear Doctor's schedule for that particular Saturday." She looked around the table, her eyes wide in expectation. Seeing agreement written on the faces of her friends she added brightly, "I'll just pop off to the telephone then!"

Another ring from the doorbell heralded the arrival of Timothy with supplies for the evening's insulin rounds. He tolerated being fussed over knowing he would be offered tea and cake. Taking Trixie's chair, he was halfway through his second slice when the conversation turned to cricket whites, namely did Dr Turner own any.

"I'm fairly certain the ones he used to play in no longer fit," Timothy laughed. "But Mum just ordered new flannels for me. Mrs Buckle, could you add a set for my dad to our order?"

"Only if you can have his measurements to me by tomorrow," she replied, pointing her finger at him to emphasise the importance of her deadline. Turning in response to the sound of heels clicking into the room she exclaimed, "Oh, Mrs Turner! You'll have all of the necessary details."

Shelagh's expression was puzzled. "I'm not sure I understand; what details are you in need of, Mrs Buckle?"

"Dr Turner's measurements of course!" Violet answered, already pulling a pencil out of her handbag.

"Whyever would you need them?" Shelagh wondered.

"For new cricket whites, Mum," Timothy clarified.

Shelagh's expression conveyed embarrassment and she lowered her voice slightly, "Tim, you know he is unable to participate in the tournament this year."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, everyone began speaking at once:

"Oh, but he must…"

"It's Mrs Yellowbird after all…"

"... for her birthday…"

"She's only asked for one thing…"

"...to see the doctor play in the match!"

Shelagh held up her hand and the room quieted. "I'm sorry," she said impatiently, "Who exactly _is _this Mrs Yellowbird?"

"Well, she's the one wot yells at the squirrels in the park!" Fred was replacing light bulbs in the sitting room lamps and couldn't resist adding his input.

Lucille laughed, "That's probably not the best description of her; she lives over in Stepney with her husband and three children."

"I heard she used to teach history at the grammar school," Sister Francis commented.

"That's right," Valerie confirmed, "now she works for the Bank of England in the Square Mile."

"In her spare time she writes for the _Poplar Echo_," Sister Julienne added.

Trixie giggled, "but I prefer her deliciously romantic short stories!"

Sister Monica Joan voiced what the entire room was thinking, "Surely you must know her?"

"I'm afraid I do not," Shelagh bristled. "But whomever she is, it appears she needs a lesson on the meaning of propriety!" Straightening her spine, she cast a disapproving look over the entire proceedings, then turned on her heel and marched out of the building.

The Nonnatuns and friends who were gathered around the table glanced sheepishly at each other; none of them had considered how Mrs Turner might feel about Mrs Yellowbird's harmless request.

Outside on the street, Shelagh strode briskly towards the surgery, her irritation revealed by her rapid pace. _Who does this woman think she is? He's __**my **__husband after all!_

Suddenly she stopped short on the pavement. _That was the truth; Patrick belonged to her. Therefore, if he was going to play cricket for anyone's enjoyment it would be for hers alone. Moreover, she was completely certain he was 'entirely satisfied,' she needn't have any concerns on that front. _With a secret smile, she continued on her way to Kenilworth Row where Patrick was waiting to drive her home.

xxxx

Shelagh put the cricket match out of her head until bedtime. Patrick stepped into the bedroom holding a copy of _The Lancet_, still wearing his reading glasses. They only added to his appeal and Shelagh felt quite smug that Mrs. Yellowbird did not know about _them_.

As she was combing her hair before her vanity mirror she caught sight of Patrick changing into his pyjamas. In the loose bottoms and only his vest, he stretched, working the kinks out of his back. Shelagh's breath caught in her throat and she walked to him, wrapping an arm around his middle before he could don the striped shirt.

"What's all this?" He clasped her arm, turning in her embrace.

"I was just thinking that you look very nice in white," Shelagh said, plucking at his vest.

"Do I?" He looked down at himself, pretending to contemplate. "My white coat hides more of the sins." He grinned, pulling her to the bed.

Shelagh settled against him, running her fingers over his stomach. "Oh, now you're asking for compliments, Patrick!" She smiled, nuzzling into his neck. "I suppose I was thinking of your cricket photo."

"That old thing? I thought you took it out of the Surgery." Patrick took her wandering hand and kissed it.

Shelagh's cheeks flushed. "I didn't wish it to become lost, Patrick."

"Of course," he said, sounding as if he were holding back a laugh. "But why are you thinking about it? The cricket match? The ulcer clinic is that weekend, Shelagh. I have work, and so have you!"

"The clinic has fewer patients nowadays, Patrick! It would mean so much to …. To Timothy and I know that you still love to play…" Shelagh removed her hand from his grasp to play with the vest again, easing it up slightly to rub a finger against the warm skin of his belly.

"Miss Higgins did mention clearing my schedule for that day. Perhaps not enough patients registered. With twice monthly ulcer clinics we have reduced the numbers of chronic cases…" Patrick was distracted as he watched her push his vest up further. "Besides, it might be nice to shake the dust off a bit…"

Shelagh bit her lip. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Patrick…" She removed his glasses and cupped his cheek.

"Then allow me to demonstrate, Mrs. Turner." He took their glasses and placed them on the side table before dimming the lamp and pulling her close.

The next morning Shelagh rang Mrs. Buckle to give her Patrick's measurements.

xxxx

By Saturday, Reservoir Rec was laid out as a proper cricket pitch. Shelagh blew out a breath as Timothy exited the vehicle with Teddy and Angela. Her stomach was knotted at the idea of another woman eyeing her husband as he participated in this community event. She managed a smile at Patrick as he opened her door. He was grinning, excitement fairly radiating in the way he moved. "After you, darling," he said, gesturing for her to walk ahead so that he could close the door.

"You're quite exuberant," she said, taking his hand.

"I'm quite excited." He shielded his eyes from the sun. "It's a glorious day for cricket. Tim's even happy to do something with his old man." He turned solemn for a moment. "I won't be able to play with Teddy this way."

"Oh," Shelagh squeezed his hand, her worries over Mrs. Yellowbird easing in light of reassuring her husband. "I'm certain that you and Teddy will have loads of fun playing together for many years to come!"

He grinned, bringing her hand to his mouth. "You always know just what to say, Mrs. Turner."

The sun glinted off of his hair, and Shelagh was dazzled by the flop of his fringe, the whites of his kit, and the gleam in his eye. "Oh, Patrick."

With a fleeting grin, he loped off to join Timothy. Angela was seated with Valerie and Lucille, waving a small ribbon on a stick, whilst Sister Julienne held Teddy, pointing different things in the crowd out to the attentive boy. Shelagh looked around, nervous to spot Mrs. Yellowbird in the crowd. It wouldn't do, to be seen staring, but as each woman entered the makeshift stadium she couldn't help but size them up. As of yet, there wasn't a woman who seemed to be paying overly much attention to Patrick, and Shelagh smiled a self-satisfied grin, stepping back slightly. "Oh!" She bumped into someone and turned. "Nurse Crane!" She stiffened. "Greetings."

"Mrs. Turner," Phyllis smiled genially. "Good afternoon! I hope that your presence here is completely voluntary. I understand that we may have upset you more than any of us realized!"

"Please, Nurse Crane. Phyllis. I apologize for my abrupt departure from Nonnatus that evening. I was… taken by surprise." She pressed her lips together before leaning in toward her colleague and friend. "Is Mrs. Yellowbird…. Well, is she here?"

Phyllis raised a brow. "Indeed." She turned her head slightly, nodding toward a blonde woman and a tall, dark-haired man. "That's our Mrs. Yellowbird and her husband."

"Oh!" Shelagh blinked at the sight of Mr. Yellowbird, her cheeks reddening. He was quite dashing, and his haircut was pleasantly reminiscent of Patrick's hair of three-or-four years past. "I'm pleased that she could be here."

"Would you like to greet her? I'll gladly-"

"Mummy!" Angela held up her ribbon, now frayed and torn.

"Oh, dearest!" She bent to Angela's height. "Perhaps in a moment, Phyllis. Why don't you go on ahead?"

Phyllis took the hint, smiling at Angela before walking away. After sorting the ribbon out, Shelagh moved to her seat, surprised to find that the Yellowbirds were seated a few rows back. She straightened her spine and determined that she would not look back, though she heard Phyllis agree to take photos with her camera for Mrs. Yellowbird. Her fretting ceased when the players took to the pitch. In a moment, her worries were gone, as she smiled at Patrick and Timothy, taking their places, wide grins on each beloved face. Time seemed to slow for a moment, lovely words of comfort settling a wave of peace over her.

_Time is fleeting; the joys that we cherish little more than mere moments, strung together…_

"Wait! What is this!"

Shelagh was shaken out of her reverie by a voice behind her in the crowd.

"A voice-over?" The woman's voice was indignant. "I can't even see Dr. Turner, he's behind those day-players-No, I will not sit down! It's a montage with the voice-over! We won't even see him play! This is THE WORST!"

Shelagh's forehead creased as Mrs. Yellowbird gave a resigned sigh. After a moment the peacefulness returned as she watched the match in what seemed like snippets or instances of joy….

…_and that is what connects us to those that we love._

**A/N: Happy Birthday, Birdy! Love, Teacup and Ginchy**


End file.
